Passion . . .

With anticipation building for the Sunday showdown that could crown Brazil a five-time World Cup champion, a telling conversation took place inside a church in the heart of this city this week.

At the altar, the Brazilian guide spoke in hushed tones. His intent listeners were three young Italian priests in jeans and T-shirts, their heads bowed in seeming reverence to the dimly lit baroque splendor of the Nossa Senhora do Rosario dos Pretos church.

But it turned out that the guide was talking about the religion that he shares with 150 million fellow Brazilians regardless of creed: soccer.

“When that referee blows the whistle for overtime, that’s one of the scariest moments in soccer,” he said. “Sudden death. But sudden death brings out the best in Brazil. And if it comes down to that, we are going to win.”

World Cup madness has invaded every nook and cranny of this continent-sized nation, from the churches of Salvador’s cobblestoned downtown to the steel towers of the financial district of Sao Paulo to the villages of the Amazon.

For a month, soccer has overwhelmed everything else: looting and hunger in the drought-stricken northeast, a scare over falsified medications, last week’s kickoff of a presidential campaign--whose outcome, political analysts solemnly assert, could be affected by Brazil’s performance on the soccer field.

After enduring games that their team won with disappointing difficulty, this week’s semifinal conquest of the Netherlands uncorked pent-up pride and optimism among Brazilians.

The sacred word on everyone’s lips is penta--a reference to the record fifth world championship that seems, to Brazilians, at least, almost guaranteed.

“The Cup is over; the final is only a formality,” the Folha de Sao Paulo newspaper crowed Thursday.

With the fall of mighty contenders, including Germany, Italy and especially neighboring rival Argentina, columnist Clovis Rossi declared that “Brazil vs. Holland was really the final.”

Brazil wants the Cup. Brazil expects the Cup. Brazil can practically taste the Cup.

Sunday will bring either the celebration to end all celebrations or, in the event of an upset by France, a night of national mourning.

While the delirium has much in common with that of other soccer-obsessed societies, it also offers quintessentially Brazilian aspects. For one thing, Brazilians remain characteristically good-natured about the whole thing.

Far from being attacked, expatriate Dutch fans in national colors danced with rivals in Rio de Janeiro during the broadcast of the semifinal. The huge nationwide street celebrations after every victory have been remarkably free of casualties, despite Brazil’s alarming rates of violent crime.

In contrast, Argentine hooligans--who are as thuggish as their English equivalents--fought a bloody street battle with riot police after last week’s grudge-match defeat of England. And scowling Chilean fans interviewed before Brazil sent home their squad earlier in the tournament snarled that their military could pound any other in South America.

Soccer-induced nationalism here is more cheerful.

We know we are the best, Brazilians seem to be saying, and you are welcome to celebrate with us if you like.

Moreover, the Cup reaffirms the harmony of a population of enormous racial and socioeconomic extremes. Appropriately, the composition of the team reflects the nation’s: Most players are of African descent, but a spectrum of colors and ethnicities is represented.

Taffarel, the goalkeeper who made two diving saves against the Netherlands, has ascended to instant sainthood. In the city of Belo Horizonte, a baby born to Sonia Maria Cota during the semifinal’s penalty kick competition was named Taffarel at the suggestion of the doctor who delivered the boy.

The father, Evaldo, did not attend the birth. He had dropped off his expectant wife at the hospital and rushed into the nearest bar to watch the game. But he showed up afterward to predict greatness for little Taffarel.

“Everything that I can do to make him a great soccer player, I will do,” the father promised.

“Taffarel is our national hero,” President Fernando Henrique Cardoso declared. He admitted that “my heart almost exploded” during the suspense of the penalty kicks.

This is, after all, a country and a continent where soccer bursts the confines of sport and spills over into politics. Common wisdom has it that a Brazilian victory will boost chances for Cardoso’s reelection in October by generating an outburst of national pride.

Conversely, some predict that the anguish and disillusionment of a loss would aid Cardoso’s underdog challenger, Luis Inacio “Lula” da Silva, an avid soccer player and fan whose campaign rhetoric uses soccer imagery and terminology.

Right now, Lula is a long shot. And to the delight of Brazilians who are heading into a weekend of frenzy expected to rival any Carnaval, so is France.

For a guide to Los Angeles sports bars where you can watch the World Cup final, go to The Times’ Web site at: https://www.latimes.com/worldcup